shrugged, and he felt the movement where her fingers rested on his forearm. Today would have been a good day to wear a short-sleeved shirt. Then he could have really felt her touch, could have seen whether her skin was soft or callused, cool or warm or clammy in the muggy air. But damn his ego, he didn’t like the look of short sleeves with a tie, and since the tie wasn’t optional...
“I don’t actually go on vacation very often,” she replied. “I mean, I take time off, but our family trips are usually to visit other family who live in Georgia. And that’s not a vacation at all, not when it comes to church. Heavens, I spent half my summers growing up attending Aunt Lavinia’s little church in Jonesboro or Aunt Opal’s in Three Rivers.”
“Old habits are hard to break. I’m glad.” When they reached the sidewalk that extended from the double doors out to the street—and not to the parking lot on each side—he kept his hand on hers to keep her from pulling away. The momentary tightening, and then easing, of her strong fingers suggested that had been her plan. “How did you choose this one?”
She gazed at the wooden doors as if she could see inside. “I drove around town yesterday after we met, just to get a feel for the place. I think it chose me. It spoke to me.” Her gaze darted his way, a bit of embarrassment in it.
No need. The old church spoke to a lot of people. There were plenty of bigger, newer, fancier churches in Copper Lake—plenty that relied on central air instead of big windows and ceiling fans. Paper or bamboo fans had never gone out of style here. Most of the families who attended services here were following generations of family tradition. Gadneys had sat in these pews for a hundred and fifty years. It was home to them.
The strains of the old organ swelled through the open windows as Miz Rutledge began warming up her arthritic fingers. Despite Roland’s and David’s groans, she was a talented musician. She just had a tendency to do everything with great flourishes.
Ty opened the door and then followed Nev into the vestibule. There he had no choice but to let go of her. If he escorted her into the sanctuary, every soul inside would think, first, that he’d been holding out on them and, second, that a marriage was in the planning.
And all of them who knew Kiki would be thanking God, silently or out loud. A few of them might even give in to the urge to dance in the aisle in response to the miracle.
Ty would have led the way to the pew near the front that he usually shared with Granddad, but Nev was quick to slide into the empty last row. He followed her, thinking with a grin that if she figured sitting in the back row would stop Brother Luther from acknowledging her, she was in for a surprise. The church didn’t get many out-of-town visitors, and they never got any wearing hot-pink dresses and shoes with four-inch heels and sexy little bows just above where the toes peeked out.
They didn’t even get a chance to sit down before Brother Luther, wearing his usual robe and already wiping his forehead with a handkerchief, stepped to the pulpit and invited everyone to stand for prayer. Some rose easily, others struggled with help from their neighbors. Mothers admonished their children to bow their heads, close their eyes. Beside Ty, Nev did both with the comfortable ease of familiar routine. He lowered his head but didn’t close his eyes. Too many years of being a cop made that part difficult.
After a rousing prayer, everyone sat again. Nev settled on the moss-green cushion that ran the length of the pew and crossed her legs. Cousin Roland had been right: she had some curves on her, and Ty had the best vantage point in the house to notice. If the reverend’s sermon wasn’t all hellfire and brimstone today, he was going to be at risk of behaving inappropriately in the Lord’s house, and he did not want that.
“Before we get started on the prayer requests—” Luther’s voice boomed from the pulpit “—Brother Tyler, would you like to introduce your guest today?”
Ty grinned as the moment Nev equated Tyler with him became evident on her face. He stood—another of those matters of respect Granddad had taught him—and offered his hand to her. “This is Nev Wilson.”
“Ned? Did he say Ned?” Miss Mattie sat four rows up, hard of hearing but refusing to give up the pew she’d spent seventy-four years in to hear better. “She don’t look like no Ned to me.”
“Nev, Miss Mattie,” he said louder. “Nevaeh.”
“Oh, Nev. Like the first half of your cousin Vaeh.” Miss Mattie nodded her gray head. “Heaven spelled backward.”
“Welcome, Sister Nevaeh.” A number of voices echoed the reverend’s, and then he gave the nod that allowed them to sit again.
Ty leaned near her as they did and murmured with a grin. “Welcome, Nevaeh.”
* * *
Sunday school and sermons were fine, and prayers, of course; Nev prayed every single day. But her favorite part of church was always the singing. She’d been blessed with a voice, and the looks she’d received from virtually everyone in the church soon after the song service started showed they agreed. She was flushed with pleasure as the strains of the last hymn faded away, followed by the final prayer, and the slow exile started.
“Lovely voice, girl,” Miss Mattie said in the booming voice she used to compensate for her hearing loss. “You sing like an angel.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Like an angel,” another woman agreed, bobbing her head. “Pure and sweet.”
“And soulful.” That came from the elderly man behind them.
Lima had always told her it was wrong to take such pleasure in the compliments. After all, it wasn’t as if she had anything to do with the quality of her voice; it was just the one the Lord had given her. To which YaYa had always responded that of course she should bask in the compliments. After all, it was the voice the Lord had given her.
She met a lot of people on the short journey from church to parking lot, all of them friendly, inviting her back again, wishing her a good visit. She committed names to memory, studied faces and even thought for a moment that a few of them seemed familiar, and then the obviousness of it hit her: as she’d told Ty, she’d grown up in churches like this. The old buildings; the talented choirs; the spirituals; the Sunday clothes; the women’s hats that, all gathered together, could rival the brightest garden for color; the families and friends. Things were bound to feel familiar.
They were making their way across the gravel lot, Ty offering his arm again, when Nev realized they were headed in the opposite direction of her car. She started to speak, but an elderly man waiting beside an old boat of a car caught her attention. He was clearly waiting for them.
“Miss Nevaeh Wilson,” he said, his voice thin, creaky but strong. It was a good description of him in general. He might have been six feet tall before age stooped his shoulders and rounded his spine. His skin stretched tightly over the bones of his face and his swollen knuckles, burnished and gleaming in the midday sun, and his gaze was sharp and...peaceful. This gentleman was happy with himself, his life, his past and present and future.
She took the hand he offered, but he didn’t just shake it. He folded both of his own hands over hers. “I’m Obadiah Gadney. Ty, here, is my grandson. All that charm and presence and intelligence? Comes straight from me.”
“I can see that, Mr. Gadney.”
“If you aren’t tired of hearing it, can I say you have a lovely voice?”
“Do
